


Chance Encounters

by FilmEater



Series: Chance Encounters [2]
Category: Actor RPF, British Actor RPF, Tom Hiddleston - Fandom
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-19
Updated: 2014-06-21
Packaged: 2018-02-05 09:27:43
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 9,755
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1813543
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FilmEater/pseuds/FilmEater
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>They meet again</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. 1

**Author's Note:**

> Well, what was meant to be a one-shot (the Stranded story) turned out to have several chapters, and grow on me so much I'm writing this. Not sure what 'this' is or where it goes, though.

It was possibly not what people had in mind when they went out to the theatre and to dinner, but Ella stood leaning against the brick wall of the building on Earlham Street, a Pret chicken and avocado sandwich in one hand, a cup of coffee in the other. There was still a good half hour until the start of the show, and there wasn’t anywhere to properly sit down in the area. She could have stayed in the Pret and eaten there. Could have. But she didn’t. Instead she’d walked to the theatre and once she had located it, hovered around the entrance, warming her hands on the cup, munching on her triangle sandwich. It was cold standing around, yet entirely unpractical walking to keep warm while eating. This wasn’t Ella’s best idea ever.

By the time she’d finished her sandwich and coffee, there was already a small crowd gathered at the entrance to the theatre. The excitement in the air was growing, feeding the nervous knots in her own stomach. She’d paid good money to fly over again, just for this. This one show that was meant to be the last show in the run before some additional shows had been announced. She was through the doors of the Donmar theatre as soon as she could once they opened, sighing against the warmth. Finally.

Front row center in the stalls. The kind of magic the universe has worked to have that seat available to her when she bought it was unbelievable. But she was grateful for it. Sitting, looking straight at the empty black space of the stage, the knots tightened. She took her bottle of water out of her bag and drank. As if it would make all the nerves go away.

Lights dimmed. The show has begun. When he entered the stage her heart stopped, waited, started again. Would he see her? Would he know her? His eyes passed over her, unseeing. Her heart sank while her mind explained it all away. How is logic even explained to a sinking heart?

She bolted for the bathroom during intermission, but there was already a queue there when she arrived. By the time she was out again, they were about to start the second act. The show grew around her, enveloping, swallowing. By the end her heart was in her throat for a completely different reason, hurting for Caius Martius.

They got a standing ovation. Of course they had. There was simply no other way it could have ended. They lined on the stage, hand in hand, and bowed. Ella stood with the rest of the audience, clapping. Tom straightened, caught her eye and smiled brightly. Her heart dove all the way down to her socks, then jumped back up. He _did_ see her after all.

There was no choice but to leave the theatre with the rest of the crowd, she couldn’t sit blocking the way. She had to go with the flow. So she went, coat draped over her arm. She stalled in the entrance hall, however, looking around for a door to take her where she wasn’t mean to go. Hoping to see Tom one more time. She wasn’t the only one to stay inside, and it was the commotion that caused her to turn around. He was standing there, still dirty and his hair still wet, smiling at people, his eyes darting around the room. They found hers and he smiled again, nodding for her to come over to him.

He talked to the people who gathered around him, signed the show programs, smiled for photos. Ella made her way across the small space towards the wall nearest to him, staying out of the way of the other people. She waited.

“Anyone didn’t get an autograph?” he asked after it seemed like the hands shoving papers and pens at him stopped. “Anyone not get the photo they wanted?” a few more photos followed. It seemed he had infinite patience, the smile never off his face. He made everyone around him smile, too. “Excuse me,” he said eventually, and passed through the crowd to where Ella was waiting.

“Ella,” her name rolled off his tongue, through the space between them and right into the hole she’d been trying to ignore in her heart. It fit perfectly.

“Hi,” she smiled.

“What are you doing here?”

Wasn’t it obvious? “I came to watch the show.” The second part of the answer echoed in her mind, but she left it unsaid.

“It’s lovely to see you,” Tom said, he moved as if to give her a hug, then stopped, glancing down at the paint and dirt on his shirt, “Sorry,” he said. “I almost forgot.”

She was acutely aware that everyone who hadn’t left yet was watching them. Her eyes darted around the room, over the curious faces of audience and crew alike. He saw her looking behind his shoulder and glanced there for a moment, then took her hand in his, “Come on,” and led her back to the door he came through. She followed him through a corridor, up some stairs and into what she assumed was his dressing room. He nodded at the few people they’d passed by and Ella nodded as well when their curious eyes turned to her, but blissfully, Tom never stopped to speak to any of them.

The room wasn’t very big. There was one of those stage make-up mirrors that she knew would be there. No venue that respects itself would have dressing rooms without proper mirrors. There was also a small sofa against a wall, a rack with some clothes on it, a tiny coffee table big enough only for the bowl of assorted fruits and sweets and the large bottle of water that stood on top of it, and a chair in front of the mirror set. There was also a door to what Ella assumed was a bathroom. He closed the door behind her. It was quiet in the small room, and he was crowding it with his sheer height.

“Let me take a quick shower,” Tom said, “And we’ll catch up after?” Ella nodded. He smiled, “Fantastic. Make yourself at home, I won’t be long.” He grabbed some items from the clothes rack and disappeared behind the bathroom door. A few moments later she could hear the running water for the shower. She put her coat on the arm of the sofa and walked around the small space, touching the fabrics hanging on the rack, running her fingers across the make-up table. His mobile was on the table. Her hand itched, but she didn’t touch it.

A quick knock and the door opened, not waiting for an answer, Ella turned to see a man stand at the door, as surprised to see her as she was to see him, “Where’s Tom?” he asked.

“In the shower,” she nodded towards the closed door. The man nodded and left, closing the door. Having nothing else to do, Ella sat down on the sofa, grabbed a mini sneakers bar from the bowl on the coffee table and settled to wait. She didn’t have to wait long. She’d barely finished chewing the sneakers when the running water stopped. Two minutes later, Tom walked out of the room, towel-drying his hair. The room filled with steam and the smell of soap. It was the same soap, the same smell. _His_ smell. She took a deep breath. He wore dark jeans, a white shirt, still unbuttoned. He threw the towel on the chair and turned to her.

“There, much better,” he said, opening his arms, “C’mere, give us a hug.”

Ella obliged, getting up and crossing the few steps between them, going on tiptoes and wrapping her hands around his neck. His arms tightened around her body, pulling her close. She closed her eyes and it was as if time had stopped. They were outside in the morning chill, it had stopped raining and she was about to leave. He felt the same. He smelled the same. She ran a hand up his neck and into his hair, took a deep breath and stepped back. He kept his hands on her waist.

“You look better,” he noted, looking her up and down. A thick knitted dress, striped purple and white, was just long enough to cover her backside, over a pair of thickly lined black leggings, tucked into flat boots. Theatre or no theatre, it was cold outside and Ella dressed appropriately. Which wasn’t quite as appropriate for the heated interior of buildings. She still had to learn the magical layer combinations or cold immunity that seemed so common in the UK.

“I am better,” she said. Time didn’t always make things better, but it went a long way towards making things not matter quite as much.

Tom smiled, “Good.” He finally let go of her waist and busied himself with the buttons of his shirt. “How long are you here for?” he asked.

“A few days. I’m flying home Thursday morning.”

“Are you doing anything tonight?” Ella shook her head. “Can I buy you dinner then? I’m starving.”

“Yeah, that’d be nice.”

“Brilliant, then give me a few minutes,” he picked up his phone and shoved it deep into his front jean pocket, then left the room.

Alone again. With nothing better to do, Ella fished out her phone and started playing solitaire. Tom came back when she was into her fifth game, roughly ten minutes later.

“All sorted,” he said. “Where do you want to go?”

“I don’t know,” Ella said, exiting the game and putting the phone back into her bag. “Italian maybe?”

“I know a place,” he said. He put on a thick black coat and opened the door for her. Taking her hand in his again as he led her through the hallways. It seemed natural somehow, and she wrapped her fingers against his without second thought.

The darkness outside caught her by surprise. It was just getting dark when she’d entered the theatre, but time moved differently inside, and it was a moment until she caught up with the fact she’d been inside more than three hours, and it was actually quite late.

Tom let go of her hand once they were outside, and Ella hurried to put on her coat and shove her hands into the pockets for warmth. He led her up one street and down another, taking turns here and there. She’d completely lost her direction following him. They passed by several restaurants and cafes that seemed perfectly fine, but he didn’t even look at them. Then he stopped in front of a nondescript door, and only when he opened it Ella realized that there was a sign, and a menu hanging on the wall. It was a little hole-in-the-wall place, with no more than half a dozen tables, half-empty. It was warm, homely and smelled divine.

He looked at her and smiled, making a sound that was meant to be a question. Ella smiled back, “I love it!”

“Wait until you taste the food,” he promised, already leading her to an empty table in the far corner. The few people that were there looked up at their arrival, and Ella could tell from the expressions on some faces that Tom had been recognized, but after a few moments of staring everyone went back to their own plates, their own company for dinner.

They sat down and ordered from the teenage waitress. Tom sat back into his chair, focused his eyes on her. “How have you been? What have you been up to?”

She told him. It was so easy, with the way he listened and commented. She looked at him when she spoke, making a point of looking into his ocean eyes. There was no way she’d learn how to swim if she didn’t dare step into the water. There wasn’t much to tell, of course, her life wasn’t very exciting. But he listened anyway.

Their food arrived, and it was as good as she’d hoped. Much better than she’d expected. Tom had ordered a bottle of wine to go with the meal and they were slowly making their way through it.

“You know,” Ella said, nearly done with her portion, “We really shouldn’t be eating heavy food this late.”

“I guess we’ll just have to stay up ridiculously late until it digests,” he grinned.

She sighed heavily, “If we must.” Tom laughed.

By the time they finished their meal, and the better part of the wine-bottle, it was nearing midnight. There was no one left in the little restaurant but them. Tom paid, helped her into her coat, put his own on and followed her to the door. The waitress from before seemed relieved to watch them go. Ella couldn’t blame her.

The street outside was deserted, almost silent, as much as any street in central London could be silent. Tom put his arm around Ella’s shoulder, pulled her closer, started walking.

“Where are we going?” she asked.

“I don’t know. Does it matter?”

She shook her head. It didn’t matter. Not yet.

“Do you ever think about that night?” the question rolled off her tongue before she could catch it. She held her breath, waiting.

“Sometimes,” he looked down at her, pulled her just a bit closer for a moment. “I wondered how you are, if you’ve made it safely.”

“I did,” Ella said. “And then I got back home and kind of… got a grip, you know? At least partially.”

“Good good,” he said quietly.

“ _Chance encounters are what keep us going_ ,” she said, trying to remember where she’d read it.

“What?” Tom looked puzzled.

“I read it somewhere, _chance encounters are what keep us going_ , but I can’t remember where.”

“How…?” the question died on his lips when he noticed the look she was giving him. “Oh.”

She chuckled, “Oh, indeed.”

His phone beeped. He ignored it. A few minutes later it beeped again. Then again. He took it out, looked at the incoming messages and smiled. It wasn’t until there was the sound of another incoming message that Ella made the connection between the messages and the time. It was after midnight. Of course.

“Hey,” she said. He put his phone away and looked at her, when he did, she added “Happy birthday.”

He grinned, placed a quick kiss on the top of her head, “Thank you.”

They wandered the streets until Ella couldn’t keep warm anymore, her hands frozen, her teeth chattering despite her attempts to clump her mouth shut. The cold had seeped through all her layers and nestled right in her bones. It was ridiculous. It wasn’t even _that_ cold. It could have been so much worse.

“Where are you staying?” Tom asked. He was already looking up and down the street for a taxi.

“I’ve got a bed in a hostel near Russell Square.”

A pause, “Wanna stay at mine tonight?” his brow furrowed lightly, causing his forehead to wrinkle.

Ella grinned, reached a hand to smooth the lines, “I thought you’d never ask, Mr. Forehead.”

“Mr. Forehead?” his eyebrows shot up.

“Well you’ve got all that forehead,” she gestured, “and I just-“ he didn’t let her finish. His mouth found hers, and for a moment there was nothing but that. His lips on hers, his tongue dancing with hers. Then he pulled away, “-said it out loud because of all the forehead that was very rude I was talking!” his eyes grew wide as she spoke and he was laughing by the end of the sentence. Ella took a much needed breath.

“That was,” he said, “brilliant. Did you really just keep talking?”

“I was in the middle!” Ella said.

“Are you in the middle now?”

“No.”

“Good,” he kissed her again. Deeper. Longer. He got his fingers entwined in her hair, his other hand holding her side, pulling her close. Ella rose on her tiptoes, balancing against his shoulders.

“Is that something you learn in boarding school?” she asked afterwards.

“What?”

“The kissing. The _really good_ kissing. My…” she searched for the word, settled, “-friend, he was very good, too. So I was just wondering.”

“I went to an all-boys school,” Tom said.

“So…?”

She laughed at the expression on his face.

“Ella?”

“Hmmm…?”

“Stop talking.”

“Don’t tell me what to do. And I didn’t say anything.”

A taxi was coming down the street, Tom reached his hand up to hail it. It slowed to a stop. He opened the door for her, waited until she sat and slid inside after her. He wrapped his arm around her shoulder again, gave the driver an address. She rested her head against his shoulder. He took his mobile out of his pocket and started scrolling through birthday messages, replying. Ella closed her eyes, enjoying the thumping of his heart near her ear, the warmth of him.

Chance encounters are what keeps us going.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The quote is from Kafka on the Shore by Haruki Murakami.


	2. 2

Tom’s apartment was on the top floor of a restored residential building. There was a code at the gate and another one at the building entrance. The exterior was the preserved original façade of the building, but inside it was completely modern and renovated. They took the elevator up and he unlocked the door for her, holding it open until Ella was through, then closing it behind him.

“Welcome to my humble abode,” he said, gesturing.

Ella walked inside and realized it was quite humble. Past the short hall there was a large living space with an open-plan kitchen in the corner. The kitchen area itself was rather small, with whitewashed wooden cabinets. The living room area was larger and managed to look homey and manly at the same time. It wasn’t black and white, which came as a pleasant surprise. It was a corner apartment, with large windows on all the walls. It must be very bright in daytime. Now, the city lights twinkled through the glass.

There were rooms down the corridor to her right, but not many. When he gave her the ‘grand tour’ as he called it a few minutes later, she’d learned there was only his bedroom, a guest room and a bathroom. The apartment was spacious, but not big. It looked well lived-in and it felt like a home, not just the place where he slept.

There were shelves with books against the walls, an electric piano in the corner. Ella didn’t know which to go to first, so she opted for the nearest book shelf, running her fingers across the spines of old books, reading the titles and authors. She picked up an old, leather-bound book and sniffed the spine, then ran her fingers over the yellowing pages.

“You like books?” Tom was standing right behind her and she nearly jumped.

“Of course I like books. Smell it!” she shoved the tome under his nose. His lips curved to a smile, fingers tracing hers as took the book from her hands. He inhaled, the book still under his nose, then put it back in place.

“Tea?” he offered, already going to the kitchen to put the kettle on.

Ella followed him, hung her bag on the back of a wooden chair standing by a small dinner table pressed against the wall. Tom was taking out mugs from a cupboard, reaching effortlessly to shelves she’d have to get on tiptoe to reach.

“Oh!” she said, opening her bag.

“What?” he turned, an empty mug in each hand.

“I completely forgot,” Ella explained, pulling a cardboard folder from her bag, holding it out to him, “This is for you,” she said.

“For me?” his brows shot up and he turned to put the mugs on the counter, then turned back and took the folder from her. He opened it and stared for a moment, his eyes growing wide. “Did you do that?” Ella nodded.

“Happy birthday,” she said again.

“Wow,” he put the folder away, “Thank you,” a step and he closed the distance between them, cupped her face in his hands and kissed her. “It’s beautiful.”

It really wasn’t. She tried to do better, but her first attempt to draw him turned out her best, so it was the only one she’d brought over with her. Back at home, four other drawings were still in her sketchbook, mocking her with their imperfections.

Sitting across from each other, their knees touching under the table. It was almost impossible to avoid, with how long his legs were. Her hands wrapped around the hot mug of tea. Watching the steam rise. They had a pattern. It was strange, having a pattern when they’ve hardly spent any time together at all, but they had a pattern. Ella smiled. He saw, smiled back.

“If you could do anything you want, what would you do?” he asked, sipping the tea.

“Travel,” Ella answered without hesitation. “See everything I could possibly see, go everywhere. Help those I can along the way. Maybe volunteer in an orphanage or an animal rescue,” her voice trailed off, “I just don’t want to do it alone,” she added quietly.

“You should have come to Guinea with me,” Tom said. “It sounds like it would be perfect for you.”

“Probably,” Ella agreed. “What about you?”

“What do you mean?”

“If you could do anything you want…?”

He blinked at her for a moment, then a small smile spread on his face, “Why do you think I’m not?”

Ella shrugged, “There’s always something. Even when you’re living the dream. Nothing’s perfect.”

Tom took another swallow of tea, looked at her. She couldn’t read his expression. “Like you said,” he started, putting the mug down, “Travel. Help those I can. Volunteer. Not do it alone.”

They finished their tea in silence that settled around them comfortably, warmly. When they were done, Ella stood up to wash the mugs.

“You’re doing it again,” he pointed out.

“Doing what again?” she was rinsing the first mug. He stood right behind her, hands on her waist. He was doing it again too.

“Washing up when you shouldn’t.”

“I do a lot of things I shouldn’t,” she said, soaping up the second mug already. It was really a matter of moments to wash the two mugs.

“Yeah?” he breathed into her hair, “Like what?” he nuzzled down her head and to the point right behind her ear, making her wriggle.

“Like going home with men who are practically strangers,” she said, putting the clean mug on the drying rack. She turned in his arms, looked up at him. “And by ‘men’, by the way, I just mean you.” The last thing she needed was for him to think she slept around. Not that it was any of his business if she did. But she didn’t.

“Why me, then?” Tom’s eyes clouded, the playfulness gone from the wrinkles around them. He tensed, his fingers tightening slightly on her waist.

“Because,” she took a breath. It was easy to leave it just with that. Just because. But she couldn’t. Not with that look in his eyes. Not with his own ghost coming back suddenly. “Because the world is changed because you are made of ivory and gold,” she said, “And because you smell like home.” His own words, etched in her mind deeper than any words anyone else has ever said to her.

One corner of his mouth tugged up in a little smile, the fingers on her waist relaxed, the clouds were gone from his eyes. Such power that words held. Her words. His words. The power to make or break, at the tip of one’s tongue. She reached up, placed her hands on the back of his neck, rose on her tiptoes and pressed her lips against his. An act of bravery. If only he knew.

She excused herself to the bathroom, used his toilet, washed her hands, squeezed some toothpaste onto her finger and smeared it on her teeth, swirling water in her mouth with the paste a few times. She used his mouthwash next. Her teeth were probably hardly any cleaner afterwards, but her mouth smelled and felt fresh, and that’s something. When she left the room, there was no light in the living room anymore, the only illumination is the dim light coming through the open bedroom door. She walked there.

Tom has removed his shirt, hanging it on the back of a chair carefully. He stood with his back to her, pulled the belt out of the loops of his jeans. She wondered about the point of doing that when he could take the jeans off just as well with the belt in the loops, as long as it was unfastened. There was an ottoman against the wall by the door. Ella sat down on it to take off her boots. He turned when he heard her, watched her, his fingers frozen on the zipper of his jeans.

“You’re far too dressed,” Tom commented, crossing the room to where she sat. It only took a few steps. He towered over her until she finished taking off her boots, then grabbed her hands and pulled her up. Ella almost lost her balance but he steadied her. “Up,” he said, and she put her hands up. He took the hem of her short dress in his hands and pulled it up and over her head, his eyes twinkling excitedly. He threw it to the side without looking, his face falling when he realized there were more clothes underneath the dress. “You’re mean to me,” he said.

Ella chuckled, “Life is hard.”

“Life isn’t the only—“ the words died on his tongue when she took off her tank-top in one quick, swift motion, revealing the lacy bra she had underneath. Thank god for the fact she picked it over her regular bra. “Oh hello,” he grinned.

“Hi,” she said quietly. She could feel the heat in her cheeks, ignored it. It was about six months too late to be blushing. She watched the expression on Tom’s face as he reached his hands and traced her skin from her shoulders to her breast, fingers just barely brushing over the lace of her bra. He licked his lips and Ella swallowed, her throat suddenly very dry. The look in his eyes was so heavy she could feel it press against her body. At least he didn’t look her in the eye with those blue weights. She would drown for sure, and she was doing so well up until then.

“You’re still too dressed,” he said eventually, hands sliding down to the waist of her leggings. She chuckled, the pressure of his gaze lifting, making it easier to breathe. She reached for his jeans, undid the zipper as he was pushing her tights down. It was an awkward dance and she giggled, which made him laugh in turn.

They fell on the bed a mass of limbs, touching, exploring, pressing, caressing. She started to say something but he crushed his lips against hers, and by the time he let her out for air, she had no recollection of the words that had been on her tongue earlier. “It’s good to see I can clear your head of whatever nonsense it comes up with,” Tom chuckled.

“That’s not gonna work forever, you know,” she said, “Eventually I’m gonna talk. And talk. And talk.”

He laughed, “But not right now.”

“No,” Ella agreed, straddling him, tracing a path down his torso with her lips. “But only because it’s rude to talk with my mouth full,” she slid even lower down his body, pushing his underwear out of the way, and giggled at his expression. Men were so easy sometimes. Simple. She listened to the sounds he made, savored the feeling of fingers he dug into her hair, ignored the protests of her jaw. He came with a grunt. “Ella...” he sat up and she sat back, smiling. Being the reason a man made sounds like he did was a very good reason to smile, in her book.

“Your turn,” Tom grinned and in an instant had her on her back and was hovering above her, holding himself up on his elbows. He rid her of her bra and underwear quickly, as an afterthought to the map he was kissing across her body. When his mouth reached the apex of her thighs Ella froze, then reached for him, trying to pull him up. She had showered before she got ready to go to the theatre, which was hours ago. She hadn’t properly shaved. Her hands found his and she grabbed them, trying to pull him back, have him cover her body again. Have his mouth away from _there_.

“Shut up,” he said.

“I didn’t say anything,”

“And yet,” he looked up, adjusted his hands and now it wasn’t her who was holding his hands, it was he who was holding hers. He squeezed just a little. “Relax,” he said, he moved, kissing his way up her body again, her hands still in his. He placed them above her head, adjusted and held both wrists in one hand. Déjà vu. “It’s my birthday,” Tom grinned, “I get to do what I want,” and with a quick kiss on her lips, he slid back down, down, his hands on her thighs, his face between them. Ella closed her eyes and took a deep breath. Relax. It was his birthday.

It was a sweet torture, and at the end of it he buried himself deep inside her, wrapping her in his arms. “You’re beautiful,” he whispered in her ear. Ella shook her head, he could feel the movement even if he couldn’t see it.

“ _You_ are,” she said. And he was. Everything about him. His voice. His smell. The way he fit against her body. The way his hand covered hers. The curve of his neck. The lines in his forehead. The oceans in his eyes. The curls of his hair. She reached and traced a path from his eyebrow down to his cheekbone, gasping as he adjusted their position and thrust harder, hitting at just the right angle. Her fingers pressed into his skin. He drove her denial of his sweet nothings out of her mind, filled it instead with other sweet nothings. There was simply no room for anything else. Just the feel of him, the smell of him, his grunts and whispers. By some sorcery, the man had actually managed to distract her from her own mind.

Ella was lying on her back and gasping for breath, head turned to look at him. “You’re kind of magic, you know?” it was barely louder than a whisper, but it sounded loud in the quiet room.

“Why?”

“You drown out the noise in my head,” she said.

Tom turned, curled himself around her, pulled her close and put the blanket over the both of them. “Good,” he said into her hair. “Now sleep.”

“Don’t tell me what to do,” she mumbled, burrowing even closer to him. He was warmth and calm and her own little corner of magic.

She breathed him in, held, let out. Repeated. He traced circles up and down her back, she trailed fingers up his side making him squirm a little. He was ticklish too – information filed for future reference. She hadn’t even realized that she was humming until she heard him join her. The sound died in her throat, the realization of what exactly she’d been humming causing a moment of panic. Tom pressed a kiss on her forehead, then reached for her chin, tilted it up and kissed her.

“Relax,” he said. “Go to sleep,” and he took up the humming exactly where he’d left off before kissing her. She joined him again for the chorus, singing quietly into his chest. He was asleep shortly after and she watched the movement of his chest, the twitching of his fingers. It was going to be another long night of fitful sleep, refusing to move out of his embrace, unable to sleep within it. Except it wasn’t, and not long after he fell asleep, Ella had joined him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The song they are humming is "Iris": http://youtu.be/tFmt2Y3nNDk
> 
> Also, in case it isn't painfully clear, I don't do sex scenes well so it's never gonna get explicit. Sorry.
> 
> Also also, thanks for reading!


	3. 3

Ella woke in the early hours of the morning, her arm wrapped around a pillow, her head on the edge of another pillow – Tom’s. He was pressed against her back, his hand thrown over both her and the pillow she’d been hugging. Everything hurt. Again. Pains she’d forgotten since the last time she had spent a night with him. Muscles that were unused since, were once again protesting the sudden overuse. She ignored them. It was damn well worth it.

She tried to move as quietly as possible when she got up, but Tom stirred, turned to his back, mumbled something. She rubbed her eyes as she walked around the bed and to the open door, trying not to walk into anything. There was just barely enough light in the room to see properly, and she hadn’t managed to unglue and focus her eyes enough to be certain she won’t miss the door and walk into the wall next to it. She used his bathroom and mouthwash, then walked to the chair where she hung her bag the previous evening and fished out her phones from a side pocket. She had two now, her regular one from home, and a cheap, old device she got at the Tesco near her hostel, for local calls. She taped the number to the back of it. She carried both into the bedroom, placed the local phone on the bedside table and snapped a photo of Tom with her other, fancier phone. A memory she wanted to keep.

She got back into the bed and under the blankets a moment later, placing the phone next to the other one, setting up with her head on her own pillow. It was harder to fall back to sleep now, and she borrowed into Tom’s shoulder, hiding her face from the rising levels of light in the room. Eventually, she’d managed to fall asleep again.

There was light in the room and she was alone in the bed. She blinked, rubbing the cobwebs out of her eyes. There was a note on the bedside table, a yellow post-it with words written in a blue pen, Ella picked it up and blinked several times until they focused: _out for a run, back soon_. She folded the note in two and put it on top of her phone, then turned to her back and closed her eyes. She could sleep some more, until he returned. A few minutes later, when it was evident there was no more sleep to be had, Ella sat up. She picked up her discarded dress and put it on, made the bed, picked up the other clothing items that were still discarded around the room and sorted them out – she folded Tom’s jeans on the chair where his shirt was hanging, put on her leggings and socks.

The living room was as brightly lit as she’d imagined it would be the previous night. She sat by the electric piano, turned it on, pressed the keys and adjusted the volume. Then she started playing, the same tune over and over and over again, focusing on nothing but the motion of her fingers, the rhythm, the melody. The focus it required cleared her mind of everything else. Any other thought and she’d falter, miss a key, ruin the whole thing. Over and over again, slowly at first, then faster and faster when muscle-memory kicked in and her fingers remembered the dance without her having to think about it.

An unfamiliar chime made her pause. It was the sound of an incoming message, but it wasn’t the sound her phone made. It took a moment to realize that it was the other phone, the local phone. Ella picked it up, pressed to read the message. It was from a local number and it simply said: _croissants or muffins?_

She blinked. Someone must have had the wrong number. She pressed the keys and sent her reply: _I think you’ve got the wrong number._

A moment later there was another chime indicating a new message: _I’ve got the right number Ella, croissants or muffins? – T._

She’s never given him her number.

_Croissants. How did you get this number?_

_Magic :)_

She put the device away. Every text was money, and she’d rather keep hers. The number was on the back of the phone, he must have just looked at it. A moment later her regular phone played the incoming message sound. Ella reached for it immediately.

_I also got this one :)_

She looked at her outgoing calls and saw a call to the same local number. She saved the number as ‘Tom’ on both phones. He practically gave her the number, which by all the rules of mobile-phone etiquette meant she could save it for future reference. Especially when he stole hers.

_You have out-stalked me, Hiddleston._

He was clearly on his way back, so Ella turned off the piano and went to the kitchen. It was his birthday, the least she could do was make him breakfast. Her stomach agreed. She rummaged through his refrigerator, taking out vegetables, then through his cupboards until she found a proper bowl. She cut a salad – cucumbers, tomatoes, bell-peppers, spring-onions. Salted and added some olive oil, squeezed a bit of lemon juice on top, put it aside. She was in the process of scrambling five eggs with a bit of milk when she heard the door open.

The door closed. There was some shuffling and she heard the sound of paper bags, then tapping down the little hallway, “Ella?”

“Kitchen,” she said. He was there a moment later. “What happened to honey I’m home?” she grinned, looking over her shoulder. He was placing paper bags with a bakery logo on the table.

“What are you doing?” he sounded surprised.

“My nails,” Ella rolled her eyes. Ask a stupid question, you get a stupid answer.

“But I’ve got us croissants,” he said, taking boxes of what was obviously cakes and not croissants and putting them in the fridge. He left out a smaller box and opened it, showing her the assortment of croissants he’d bought.

“Croissants are dessert, not breakfast.”

“You sound like my mother.”

Ella laughed, whisking the eggs some more.

“Leave it,” Tom said. “I’ve got to take a shower, I’m sweaty and disgusting. It’ll get cold. Come shower with me instead,” it was half a request, half a question.

“Save water shower together?”

“Exactly!” he grinned.

“Such an environmentalist you are…”

He brought her a fresh towel and one of his long-sleeved shirts to wear, and even produced a brand new toothbrush from one of the cupboards in the bathroom, muttering that he’s an idiot for not providing it the night before. He turned on the water and they stood, waiting for it to warm up. It was more awkward in the daylight, with no wine as a buffer, just the two of them in the small, heated room. They undressed in silence, and Ella followed him into the shower, standing out of the way as he stepped under the stream. It was easier once they were both inside. Tom washed the sweat off his skin and, in another act of bravery he knew nothing about, Ella reached up to soap his shoulders, his chest, his back.

“My turn,” he said eventually, shifted her under the stream of water and laughed when she made a face at the water falling over her eyes, reaching blindly above her head to adjust the shower head. He reached up and moved it for her. He ran his hands all over her, remembering the soap only a while later, then did it again with soaped hands, cupping her breasts, massaging her shoulders, dipping between her thighs. He kissed her, making her gasp for air, making her head spin. She traced fingers across his skin, blinking against the water still finding its way into her eyes, breathing him in. When Tom lifted her up and pinned her against the tiled wall, Ella’s hands shot to the sides looking for something to hold on to, her legs wrapped around him tightly, sure that she’s going to fall, that he won’t be able to hold her. But he was stronger than he looked, and she ended up wrapping her hands around his shoulders, bending her head down to kiss him. It was odd looking down at him instead of up. The air was hot and humid, but it wasn’t the reason she was having trouble breathing. Her skin tingled in anticipation.

He was breathing heavily, and he pinned her harder against the wall with his body and let go of her with one hand, using it instead to adjust their position. Ella gasped, held her breath.

Common sense hit for just a flash of a second.

“Wait,” she said when he was shifting to slide inside her. “Do you have any STDs?” it was stupid to just ask that and trust his answer. It was stupid but she did it anyway.

“Fuck,” he muttered, pulling back a bit. “Shit. No I don’t,” his eyes darted to a cupboard, his face fell. “Do you?” he asked.

“No,” she said. “And I’m on the pill,” she added.

He sighed, relieved, “Good. I fucking hate condoms.”

Ella chuckled, “Who doesn’t?”

“Fair point,” he smiled against her lips. “Now where were we?”

Standing in the kitchen in nothing but underwear and his shirt – which was just as long as her dress, and she had to roll up the sleeves almost in half to fit better – scrambling eggs on the pan, while he busied himself with setting the table and brewing a fresh pot of tea, Ella panicked. Quietly, taking deep breaths, she panicked. That was a stupid, stupid, stupid thing to do. She’d have to get tested the moment she got back home. Fuck.

His arms wrapped around her waist, chin on the top of her head, and the tension left her body. “Are you really on the pill?” he asked into the air. Ella froze for a moment. Relaxed. He was worried too. If he was worried, he probably wasn’t lying.

“Yeah, I’ve got the packet in my wallet if you want to see.”

He kissed the top of her head, “No, it’s okay.” He took a breath as if to say something else, but there was nothing but silence.

Ella turned off the gas under the pan. “If you’re freaking out and I’m freaking out,” she said, “then I think we’re actually okay.”

He chuckled somewhere above her, his body shaking with the motion for a moment, “I suppose you’re right.” He moved back, allowed her the space to turn around. “Thank you for breakfast.”

“It’s the least I could do, birthday boy,” she smiled, dividing the eggs between their plates. She gave him the larger portion.

“What are your plans for the day?” Tom asked while they were eating. The tea he made was perfect, and she took her second mug of it with milk like he did, just to see what it’s like. It wasn’t bad. Her eggs and salad were less impressive than the tea. But they were food, and she’d been starving.

“I haven’t thought about it,” she answered. “I thought I’d explore a bit. Maybe go to the British Museum and to one of the markets.”

He smiled, nodded, chewed on his food. He was about to say something when his phone rang, he picked it up and answered. Whoever was on the other line, they were clearly wishing him a happy birthday. Tom smiled as he answered his thanks, apologized for having to cut the conversation short, hung up.

“Sorry,” he said.

“Don’t apologize.”

“Croissants?” Tom asked as he was clearing their plates a bit later.

“Yes please!”

He heated them up in the microwave for a few seconds, then placed a plate with the assortment in the middle of the table. Ella immediately reached for the nearest one. He answered another call and spoke briefly, then hung up.

“Do you want to stay here for a bit today?” he asked. “I’ve got people coming over in the evening, but nothing planned until then. We could watch a film…?” again half a statement, half a question.

“Are you sure it’s okay?” Ella swallowed a piece of the sweet pastry, “I don’t want to get in the way.”

“You’re not in the way. Stay.”

She nodded and he grinned, evidently relieved.

When they were done chewing she got up, looked at the sink. It was easy to do the dishes again, it would keep her hands busy. But she turned away, “I’ve made breakfast, you’re washing dishes.”

Ella leaned against the wall and watched him wash up, holding her hand under yet another croissant to keep the crumbs from hitting the floor. It was her third croissant and she hadn’t even been hungry since halfway through the proper breakfast. It didn’t matter. Croissants weren’t food, they were dessert. She held the phone to his ear when it rang again, and he thanked yet another person who’d called to wish him a happy birthday. It wasn’t even ten in the morning. At this rate, he was going to have a very, very long day.


	4. 4

She was reading a book on her hostel bed that night. A distraction from being alone again. A distraction from leaving him to his friends and his party and going back to the real world. A world that he wasn’t really a part of. He was… he was magic. And all magic fades. All magic ends.

Her phone buzzed and beeped with an incoming message. Ella marked her page with a finger and reached for the phone, pressing the keys to read the message: _We’re going out dancing. Join us?_

It wasn’t a hard decision to make. On the one hand, there was an evening in the hostel, reading her book, wallowing in the misery of possibly never seeing Tom again. On the other hand, there was seeing Tom again.

She typed: _Sure. Where? When?_

 _Now. I’ll add your name to the guest-list. Bring an ID. What’s your surname?_ He added an address to the end of the message and Ella wrote it down on a piece of paper and shoved it into her wallet, next to the yellow post-it note she’d stashed there before she left his apartment earlier.

_Katz._

It was one of the quickest showers Ella has ever taken, but then again, she’d showered in the morning. There wasn’t much for her to wear in the fancy dancing clothes department, so it was back to the leggings and boots, and a pale-pink cotton tunic she’d packed as an afterthought. It was loose on top but fit snugly around the hips, and had a decorative black belt to go with it. She put on the only necklace she’d brought with her – a silver chain with a pendant shaped like a treble with a pearl – and paired it with the only ring she ever wore, a small metal treble she wore on her ring finger. She even applied some make-up, it seemed fitting. Not a lot of it, she didn’t even have a lot of it. But she put on mascara, black pencil under her eye and a mix of dark eye-shadow for what she hoped created a smoky look.

The girl at the reception - overly-bubbly blue-eyed, black-haired, heavy accented – helped her find the address on the map, and Ella planned her route via underground to get there. Only one change of lines. She bundled up in her coat against the cold and headed outside.

Twenty minutes later she was standing, shivering, in a queue outside the club.

_Where are you?_

Ella typed in her reply: _Queuing like a proper Brit._

_Don’t be daft, your name is on the list. You don’t need to queue._

She stepped out of the line, walked around everyone to the two large men blocking the entrance. They eyed her, unimpressed. Someone grumbled from the line of people behind her. She’d just broken the first rule of being British, and the locals were not amused. On the other hand, she hadn’t a British bone in her body.

“Umm… hi,” she said. “My name should be on the list?”

“ID,” said the man standing closest to her. He was more than a head taller than her, and as wide as he was tall. None of it was fat. Ella rummaged through her bag for her passport, handed it over. The man looked at her, at the photo and name on the passport, at the list in his hands. He handed her passport back and moved aside, allowing her through.

The lights were dim and flickering in different colors, the music loud. It was hard to make out any specific person in the dancing crowd, and the seating areas around the sides were lit only enough to see that they were occupied, but not by whom. Ella took a few steps inside to clear the door and stood, looking around her. This was not her territory. This was so far from her territory that it wouldn’t surprise her if everyone spoke a different language she’d never even heard of.

_I’m here. Where are you?_

She hit send and scanned the room again, taking her coat off. It was far warmer inside, and she suspected she’d end up entirely over-dressed for the occasion, especially if she drank and danced. Ella clutched the phone in her hand tightly but there was no reply. She waited, unsure of where to go or what to do. Then she saw him. Walking around the edge of the dance floor, a tall silhouette was looking around. He hadn’t seen her yet. She started walking towards him. After a few moments he saw her and grinned. Wrapped her in his arms tightly. He smelled of aftershave, sweat, alcohol and _him_. It was an intoxicating combination.

“You came!” he let her go, took her hand, pulled her after him back where he came from, to a booth at the very back of the room. There were a few people seated in the sofas around the low table, a plate of snacks and glasses with various levels of alcohol in front of them.

“Everyone,” Tom said, pulling Ella to stand beside him, “This is Ella. Ella, this is everyone.”

They all stared at her, one man frowned, raising his eyebrow at Tom. He was clearly not impressed with her presence. Everyone else smiled after a moment, offering their names and their hands in introduction. There was one person there that she recognized. She paused when she noticed him, stomped on the urge to squeal like a fangirl. An urge she was surprised to discover.

“I’m Ben!” he said, leaning to speak into her ear over the table so that he didn’t have to shout to be heard. Benedict Cumberbatch was shaking her hand. Benedict Cucumberpatch. The twist of his name rolled on her tongue and she swallowed it. If there was ever a time to not vocalize the nonsense her brain came up with, this was it. The scowling man was named Luke. The other names were out of her head by the time she was halfway through her first cranberry vodka.

She sat at the very edge of the sofa, next to Tom, his arm around her shoulder loosely. He was sipping from a tumbler of whiskey, she was making good progress on her vodka. He offered her to dance, but she wasn’t nearly drunk enough for that yet.

“Come on,” he said eventually, taking her nearly empty glass and putting it on the table next to his empty one, pulling her onto the dancefloor. Everyone else around the table were already gone, dancing.

“I’m really terrible at this,” Ella said, rising on tiptoes to reach his ear.

“Bollocks,” he answered. He pulled her after him and started swaying his hips to the music, pulling her close, swaying against her. “It’s easy!” he swirled her around and she almost lost her footing, but balanced at the last moment. It was easier than she remembered. There was a clear beat, the music wasn’t too bad in general and she followed his lead, falling into the pattern of his dance, copying sometimes his moves, sometimes the moves of people in her line of vision. He danced like he did everything else she’d ever seen him do – effortlessly. Without care, without thought and with more grace than she could muster. And he had a ridiculous amount of fun while doing it. Next to him, she was a clumsy little troll. Inadequate.

“I need some water,” she said and turned towards the bar. She asked for a glass of water and gulped down half of it the moment it was in her hands.

The scowling one, Luke, came up to her just as she turned to look at the dancefloor.

“Hi,” he said. He stood very close, to be heard over the music without raising his voice. He looked very young, and wasn’t her kind of pretty.

“Hi,” Ella answered.

“So how long have you known Tom?” he leaned closer, speaking right into her ear.

“Umm… well we met a while ago, but I barely know him, really,” she couldn’t just tell this stranger that his friend, also practically a stranger, didn’t feel like a stranger at all.

“And do you think you’ll be seeing each other more?”

Ella looked at him. “I’m sorry, how is that your business?” there was probably a tactful way to ask this question, but tact has never been her strong side, especially after a substantial amount of vodka.

“I’m Tom’s publicist,” Luke said. “ _He_ is my business.”

“Oh,” she sipped her water. Well, that was unexpected. “Look, Luke,” the two words sounded the same, and she paused, knowing they should’ve sounded differently. “I haven’t told anyone I even met him back when he helped me out in September. I don’t want to be famous. I don’t want his money. I’m flying home on Thursday and I don’t know if I’ll ever see him again,” the truth of those words stung more than the fact a man was standing next to her, doubting her intentions. What intentions? There was no room for them in her reality.

“I see.”

She had no idea what he saw, exactly. But she saw Tom walking over to her and smiled, relieved and sad at the same time. She didn’t know if she’d see him after tonight, let alone after Thursday.

“Is he harassing you?” Tom asked with a smile, putting one hand around her waist and pointing at Luke with the other. Ella shook her head. He was just doing his job. There was silence as the two men stared each other down. Eventually Luke sighed, shook his head and excused himself.

“I don’t think he likes me,” she said. Tom ordered them another round of drinks.

“He doesn’t like any woman I bring around,” he said.

“Why?”

Tom shrugged, “He worries. He’s right a lot of the time.”

She turned, looked up at him, made sure he was looking her in the eyes. His oceans had shrunk into dark pools, pupils dilated in the darkness. “I like you,” she said. So many acts of bravery on his account and he remained oblivious. He’d make something of her yet, without even knowing. “I don’t want or need to be famous. I don’t want or need your money,” she added. “But you make the noises in my head go quiet. And you smell like home. And I hate dancing but I’ll probably never see you again after tonight so none of it matters and—“ he did it again, kissed her while she was talking. It was a brief kiss. He pressed his forehead against hers and for a moment she thought she’d drown again.

“I thought you’re only flying on Thursday,” he said.

“I am.”

“Then why won’t you see me after tonight?”

Ella shrugged, blinked away the sadness. He may have been magic, but she was nobody. “I figured you’re busy. You won’t have the time.” She swallowed the rest of her answer.

“I’ll make the time,” Tom said, then chuckled, “Luke will make the time,” the curves of his lips curled up in a smirk, “Serves him right.”

Their drinks arrived and she turned to pick hers up, but he put his hand on top of hers, stopping her. “I was the one that said you smell like home,” he said. “If you’re going to steal my line, you should at least give me the benefit of the doubt for using it in the first place.”

“I thought it was just a line,” she said quietly.

“Was it just a line when you said it?”

She shook her head. Of course it wasn’t.

One hand still pinning hers to the bar, his other hand cradled the back of her neck, titled her head up for another kiss. Longer this time, deeper. When he broke it he spoke again, “You forgot.” She looked up at him puzzled. “ _The curves of your lips can rewrite history_.”

He told her to drink up, then pulled her to dance some more. She danced with him, danced with Ben briefly, danced with another of his friends. She was dizzy from the vodka and the dancing by the time they declared it was time to go home. They said their goodbyes, piled into the empty taxis waiting outside. Tom and Ella had one just for themselves.

“Stay the night?” he asked. Briefly, the word ‘no’ played on her tongue, curious of the expression on his face. She swallowed it and nodded. As they pulled away from the curb, the streetlights fell at moving angles on his face. He turned to her and smiled, resting his head on her shoulder. It fit into the curve there perfectly, even if he had to scoot down the seat to compensate for his height just to be able to do that. His curls shone in the lamplight. She reached a bit awkwardly, traced his cheekbone. He caught her fingers in his hands, brought them to his mouth and kissed lightly.

The world was changed because he was made of ivory and gold. The curves of his lips could rewrite history.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I think this part is done. And I also think there will be more. Thank you for sticking around.


End file.
